'What the hell? Why is it raining?'
A heavy downpour was descending on the ruins of the Eternal City. The drops of water seemed to move slowly as Jet staggered back, barely keeping her balance. Her face was smeared with blood, and her body was broken — and yet, she was still full of fight.
Now that the Mist Blade had assumed the form of a khopesh, she did not have the advantage of reach anymore. The Cursed Wanderer was still avoiding letting their blades cross, which held him back, but he had managed to land far more blows with his fists and feet now… as well as his elbows, knees, shoulders, and forehead.
The bastard really knew his hand-to-hand combat. It was as if he had spent thousands of years doing nothing but participating in fistfights.
'How come?'
Groaning quietly, Jet turned her torso to avoid the ghostly cutlass and counterattacked, trying to sink her sword into the ethereal body of the great wraith.
The rain made it harder to see.
